Taxi To Paris Part 12

She noticed it immediately. "What's up?"

"I need a doctor," I said.

She was startled. "What did you do to yourself?" she asked. "We just got back."

"Not for me."

Strangely, that seemed to explain everything for her. "You're with her," she said - a statement, not a question.

"Yes," I confirmed.

"Give me the address," she said. She didn't ask why. She didn't refer me to the hospital. If I hadn't figured out how helpful her natural, calm attentiveness could be over the past few days, I would've seen it now. She was something special. I gave her the address.

She said, "I'll try to contact a doctor I know. I hope she's home."

"I hope so, too!" I said urgently. "And please, hurry!"

Karin said nothing more, and hung up. I knew she would do what she could. Now I could only wait.

It seemed like an eternity. I tried to clean up some of the blood with a washcloth. She moaned so horribly that I gave up. The doorbell rang. I looked at the clock. Forty-five minutes had pa.s.sed. I opened the door.

A grey-haired woman in her mid-fifties stormed in. I a.s.sumed she was the doctor. She didn't introduce herself. "Where is she?" she asked curtly.

I pointed toward the bedroom. She stormed right past me. I followed her in. She stood by the bed, rolling up the sleeves of her white blouse. She took a stethoscope from her bag.

She looked down at the bed. "Those d.a.m.ned guys!" she said angrily.

I looked at her. I said nothing, but I was pretty sure that this hadn't been caused by a "d.a.m.ned guy."

The doctor examined her quickly and professionally. She moaned. The doctor said soothingly, "It's all right, kiddo. It's almost over."

When she was done, she stood to face me. "I think she got lucky. No internal injuries as far as I can tell. But she should be x-rayed anyway."

A weak sound of protest came from the bed. The doctor turned around. "I know, kiddo. I already saw the bed."

To me, she continued, "I don't think she's in any immediate mortal danger. As soon as she can walk again, bring her to a hospital and have her x-rayed. At that point, they won't ask any questions."

She looked at me. "Promise me you will!"

It was an order. I nodded.

She asked. "Is she your girlfriend?" I was taken completely by surprise. At any other time, I wouldn't have answered, nor would I even have known what the answer was. Now, I nodded, just like before.

The doctor sighed. "You girls should look out for each other better, in your line of work!"

She thought I was a...! Despite the gravity of the situation, I had to smile. "I'll look after her," I promised. "As soon as she can walk, she'll be x-rayed."

The doctor looked me right in the eye. Then she said, "Good. I believe you mean it." She took out a prescription pad and wrote something on it. "Get this now at the all-night pharmacy. Give her one pill every hour for the next twelve hours."

I nodded obediently. She wouldn't have accepted no for an answer, anyhow.

She turned and headed for the door. I reached out an arm. "Yes, but..."

She stood in the doorway. "It's taken care of," she said. Then she was gone. I still stood there, completely flabbergasted.

A soft moan from the bed brought me back to my senses. I went over. I looked down at her. She looked at me through a slit of an eye. The other was swollen completely shut.

"I'm going to run over to the pharmacy," I announced. "To get your medicine."

"No," she protested weakly. I could barely understand her.

In kneeled by the bed. "I'll be right back. But I have to go. I'll lock the door from the outside. Where are your keys?"

If I interpreted her gesture correctly, she was indicating a purse. I opened it and found the key. I took it out. "I'll be right back," I rea.s.sured her soothingly. I stroked the air next to her face, so as to avoid touching her and causing her fresh pain. Then I left hurriedly.

The night was a sea of horrors for her, despite the tablets that I patiently gave her every hour. She could barely swallow.

I just sat with her and watched her. After I gave her a pill, she usually slept a little, but even in her sleep, she still cried out in terror. Once she yelled aloud, "No!" She woke from that, and although the hour wasn't quite up yet, I gave her another tablet.

So it went until morning. Then she fell into a restless sleep from which she would not be roused. I sat in an armchair with a blanket and fell asleep quickly. Her moans woke me. When I came to my senses, I saw that she was trying to get up.

I leapt up. "Are you crazy? Lie down!"

She sank back, groaning. "I have to go," she whispered through her swollen lips. She almost looked worse than the night before. Now I could see her upper body, from which the kimono had fallen. Her skin was covered with bruises and welts - or, more precisely, I could see a patch or two of skin between the bruises.

"Nonsense," I replied sternly. "You stay in bed and tell me what it is that you want. I'll get it for you."

"I don't want anything," she sighed with labored resignation.

"Fine," I said. I went over to the bed and kneeled next to her. "Are you in much pain?" Dumb question - that was obvious!

"I'm ok," she claimed. Then next moment, she winced again.

"Do you want another pill?" I asked, concerned.

She whispered. I leaned over her, so that her mouth was right next to my ear.

"I ... want ... to ... get ... away ... from ... here." It took a terrible effort.

I could understand that! "Should I bring you to my house?" I dreaded the four flights of stairs already, but if that's what she wanted...

She shook her head only just visibly, but had to groan from the pain anyway. "Paris," she breathed, barely audibly.

"To Paris?" How did she intend to do that? And then: did she want to lie in a hotel for days in this condition, unable to stand? She'd be better off doing that here. I said, "When you're feeling better, we'll go to Paris."

Her hands curled convulsively into fists. "Now!" she insisted with all the strength she could possible muster.

I spoke soothingly to her. "That's not possible. You can't take it. You'll have to wait a couple of days."

"Please...," she whispered, completely exhausted.

What was I supposed to say to that? I sighed. "All right, fine. I'll take you to Paris. I don't know how, but I promise I'll do it."

The tension in her body let up. I stood up. "I'll reserve a room. Do you prefer a particular hotel?"

She tried to say something again. At first, I couldn't understand her, but then I heard, "No hotel."

"No hotel? Do you intend to sleep under a bridge in that condition?" I was beginning to doubt that only her body had been affected by the injuries.

"Apartment," she said weakly. She raised her hand and pointed toward her purse again. I was confused. An apartment in her purse? I picked up the purse and laid it next to her on the bed. She said, "Open." I did. Then she said, "Addresses." I a.s.sumed she wanted an address book, and looked for one. I found a small pocket calendar - not the voluminous leather-bound book in which she wrote her appointments. She was breathing very heavily. With a last effort, she gasped, "First page."

I opened the calendar. On the first page stood her name and an address in Paris. I looked at her questioningly. "Do you want to go there? Do you always stay there when you're in Paris?"

She nodded, eyes closed. At least I interpreted it as a nod.

"Should I call? Who lives there?"

She whispered incomprehensibly. I leaned over her again. "My...," I understood. Who? Her friend, mother, cousin? It occurred to me that I'd never realized she must have a family, too. She took a deep breath, to the extent that she was able. "My ... apartment," she said.

"That's your apartment?" Her reaction was weak, but I a.s.sumed that she was trying to confirm. What else this all meant, I didn't want to think about just then. I had the address; I knew what she wanted. Now there was just the transportation problem.

I thought aloud about it. "You can't walk. I can't imagine getting you on a train or an airplane." I paced around the room. "That leaves my car." I looked at her, trying to imagine how someone in her condition could tolerate a half-day-long car ride. "I don't know how you'll get through it."

She murmured something again. "I'll ... manage ... it." She had to have it. And her will could move mountains, or so I hoped. Or at least her body to Paris.

"Well, then." I gave up, resigned. If it wasn't going to work, I'd see that, and then she'd just have to get used to the idea of staying here until she was better. "I'm going home to pack a couple of things. Then I'll come back with my car. It won't take long." She'd tried to open her swollen eyes in an instinctive expression of fear, but the pain prevented her from doing so. She moaned terribly.

"I'll be right back. I'll lock the door from the outside again. That worked well last night. Don't be afraid!" I took the key and left.

At home, I threw a few things together, got out money and travelers' checks, and hurried as much as possible. I took every soft thing I could find: blankets, pillows, and - what I didn't dare forget! - a hot water bottle. Finally, I had everything in the car. I drove, illegally, into the pedestrian zone and parked the car right in front of her door. When I got up to the apartment, she was trying to get up by herself again. She'd managed something between lying down and sitting up. I helped her sit up the rest of the way.

"I'm afraid it's time to get going," I warned her. "We have to get you dressed." I went over to her closet. Apparently, she drew a sharp distinction between work and her private life here also. There wasn't a single thing in leather.

I looked for a few soft, comfortable things, finding nothing but silk underthings but taking them anyhow. In her closet, I found a suitcase. I put everything in there except what I wanted to dress her in: a jogging suit. Good thing she at least had one of those. But I'd already determined that she was athletic.

I came back to the bed. "Do you think you can help me?" She nodded weakly. I gave her the top. She couldn't lift her arms alone and let them fall back down, disappointed. "It's all right," I calmed her. "I'll do it." Afterwards, I was about to take her suitcase down to my car. "I'll come back and get you."

"No," she protested. She didn't want to be alone another minute.

I slung the bag over one shoulder and wrapped her arm around the other. She moaned. I ignored it, put my arm around her waist, and pulled her up. She moaned louder, but propped herself up against me as best she could. Where would this end? We hadn't even made it out of the bedroom yet!

"Don't you think maybe we should reconsider this?" I asked cautiously.

Her reaction was violent. She gathered up every ounce of strength in her body and took a step. I supported her. We got down to the car with great effort. I packed her in blankets and pillows in the back seat and hoped that that would be enough. She collapsed with exhaustion as I sat in the driver's seat. Perhaps she'd fallen asleep. I had given her another pill back in the apartment. Awake, she'd never be able to stand so much pain.

As I pulled out into the street, she cried out. I looked in the rearview mirror. "Can you really do this?"

She gritted her teeth. "Yes," she growled. I'd better not ask her that anymore!

The first few miles, before we got to the freeway, were extremely awful. I wanted to turn around, or at least get some earplugs. She moaned continuously. Then, when we got on the freeway, I suddenly heard nothing more from her. She'd lost consciousness. That was best. I hoped she'd stay that way as long as possible.

During the drive, I stopped twice without her waking up. I watched her carefully. Her swollen face was twisted up in pain. Unconsciousness might protect her mind from thinking about her injuries, but it didn't shield her body from them. She continued to moan now and then, but thank G.o.d she didn't wake up.

After the last stop, the industrial areas surrounding Paris suddenly appeared before me. As always, I was surprised by the sudden transformation. First, there was barely a house to be seen, just a few farming villages, but then all of a sudden there were wide streets and sprawling industrial complexes right and left.

This artificial landscape never seemed to end. One after another, the garishly-lit, phantasmagoric buildings slid past my windows. Tall buildings whose tops I couldn't even see from inside the car stood between flat, isolated, defenseless-looking warehouses. Flat, pointed, flat, pointed - it looked like a desolate futuristic painting, which with its unusual lighting looked almost filigreed.

The aesthetics of these constructions took me prisoner. My surroundings seemed to flash by me like images on a giant movie screen.

I didn't know how long it had been before the scenery changed. The poor suburbs of Paris and their own aesthetic couldn't compete with the industrial region. What perversion! Here lived the people who worked out in that science fiction world.

I had to turn my attention to the traffic. Even at night, Paris always seemed to be at rush hour. I had to drive through the city. I'd have to take part in the incomparable experience of the Arc de Triomphe traffic circle! Now, at night, I felt up to it, but I'd never in a million years attempt it during the day.

I drove on, looking for the road that would lead us to her apartment. It wasn't far now. She moaned.

I looked in the rearview mirror. "Are you awake?"

In answer, I got a horrible sound from her. Then a sort of rasping. It sounded like metal rubbing against metal. "Where...?" she asked, barely understandable.

"We're in Paris," I replied in a friendly voice. "Your apartment must be right around here someplace." I was curious what the apartment would be like. Above all, I hoped it had an elevator.

I found the building and parked in the street. What was I doing in Paris, anyhow? I gave us both a moment to recover, then got out. I opened the back door. "Can you get out?" I asked carefully.

She moved around a little. "I'll try," she said softly.

I got her purse out of the car and looked for the key. It was hidden deep in an inside pocket. There was a beautiful silver keychain attached to it. I held it in my hand for a moment, admiring it. She let out a loud noise. I turned to her quickly. Her face was scrunched up in pain yet again. I went to her and wrapped her arm over my shoulder and mine around her waist. I brought her to the door and opened it. Slowly, I helped her inside. The door swung shut by itself.

We stood in a foyer of enormous dimensions. Left and right stood wide spiral staircases to the next floor. "Oh, my!" I was overwhelmed and deeply impressed. She trembled in my arm. That pulled me back down out of the clouds and to the business at hand. I didn't see an elevator anywhere. The whole thing seemed to be original eighteenth-century construction.

"What floor is your apartment on?" I asked her apprehensively.

"First." It sounded very weak. She just barely raised her hand and pointed to the right. "Elevator."

I was somewhat relieved. The first floor hadn't sounded so bad, but probably that which I saw at the top of the stairs was the first floor. And way up there - those stairs must be half a mile long! I preferred the elevator.

I lead her slowly over to the right, although I couldn't detect any technological devices. When we reached the corner of the entry hall, I finally saw the elevator doors. They were completely hidden behind a marble column and very elaborately decorated. We got on the elevator. I closed the gate from inside and pushed the b.u.t.ton for "1." As I'd suspected, it was actually the second floor. In between, there was yet another story. We rode up.

On the floor designated here as the first, there were two doors. She started right away for the left one. I brought her to the door and opened it with the second key on the ring. Inside the apartment, she showed me wordlessly the way to the bedroom - if you could call this French boudoir that!

I laid her on the bed, a French dream of velvet and silk, and took her shoes off. I didn't want to attempt to undress her just yet. I pulled the blanket up over her and looked down at her. She could barely stay awake. I bent down over her and kissed her gently on the nose. That seemed to be the least damaged part of her. "Sleep," I said. "You're in Paris now."

She closed her eyes.

Chapter 20.